


Sir

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: BDSM, Butt Plugs, Dom Javert, Figging, Hand Feeding, Kneeling, Leather, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Shower Sex, Sub Valjean, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: “Ex-cons usually don’t call ex-cops Sir, you know.”“Butyouwill, won’t you?”





	Sir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/gifts).



> Because Formal BDSM Insisting On Being Called Sir Wattsvert with a love of Gorean slave positions is my favorite ridiculous headcanon of the year. The two lines of the summary shamelessly stolen from a certain discussion of this idea. <3

Heat rushed to Valjean’s face. It was hard to meet Javert’s eyes.

He should have just said no to this the first time Javert had brought it up. But it was so hard to say no to anything Javert did.

He should be too old to feel butterflies in his stomach every time Javert smiled at him. But he did. And after so many long years, just when he thought he knew who and what he was, Javert had to come and turn his world upside down, in more ways than just one.

“Ex-cons usually don’t call ex-cops Sir, you know.” He made himself meet Javert’s eyes at last.

There was a knowing smile on Javert’s face. Valjean’s stomach dropped and did that strange, twisty thing again that left him breathless when Javert moved a little closer.

“But _you_ will, won’t you?”

Javert sounded so sure of himself. So certain that he had every right to just say these things. That Valjean would play along.

And the weirdest thing was the way the butterflies in his stomach intensified when he did.

He should be too old to learn these things about himself. Especially given that this was Javert.

Instead, breathless, he nodded after a moment. “I’ll try.”

Javert made an amused, low sound and tilted his head at him.

“I will… Sir,” Valjean amended, the word coming out as little more than a whisper. It should have sounded ridiculous. And perhaps it was, a little bit, but his stomach was fluttering again, and Javert’s eyes had turned all dark and intense.

It wasn’t so bad to have that intensity turned on him these days.

***

“It’s a collar,” Javert said when Valjean kept staring at the length of leather in Javert’s hand.

Javert gave him that small, amused smile again when Valjean didn’t say anything, holding it out. “You can touch it, you know. I bought it for you.”

Valjean swallowed. Then he reached out to run a careful finger over it. The leather was supple—smooth and sturdy, but not stiff like a belt. It felt soft to the touch. The leather was white. There was a ring at the front, and a _J_ embossed into the leather to both sides of it.

It was pretty. And a little scary—but this wasn’t cold, hard metal. It was soft leather, unlike anything he’d worn before. And even now, there was that flutter in his stomach again at the thought of Javert fastening it at the back of his neck.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said after a moment.

Javert’s smile widened. “White, just like your suits. Turn around.”

Obediently, Valjean turned. The collar felt strange against his neck; it was tight enough that he could feel it against his skin when he swallowed. But it was soft and did not itch, and he exhaled when Javert fastened it at the back.

“Turn around again,” Javert commanded.

His eyes were amused and filled with heat at the same time. Valjean felt his breath hitch when Javert hooked a finger through the ring at the front and used it to pull him closer.

“Do you like it?”

Valjean licked his lips, then he nodded silently.

Javert kept staring at him.

“Yes, Sir,” Valjean admitted at last, flushing.

Javert gave him another possessive smile, then used the collar to pull him close and kiss him.

***

The thing that bothered him the most was that he didn’t mind Javert’s games.

It should bother him, shouldn’t it?

But there was something so seductively easy about taking a deep breath, raising his chin to let Javert slip on the collar, and then sink to his knees when Javert pointed to the floor.

Long ago, he’d kneeled just like that, but there’d been a gun in Javert’s hands, and he’d been terrified.

Now, his mind went pleasantly blank. He knelt the way Javert had taught him to, with his knees spread and his back straight, his hands resting on his thighs.

On display. That was how Javert had called it—and that was how he felt, too, naked and exposed.

But it was okay, because he trusted Javert. And after so many decades of being unable to trust anyone at all, of having to keep his secrets even from Cosette, there was a strange relief in taking the plunge and surrendering himself to Javert so completely.

Javert circled him slowly. Valjean arched his back a little, blushing as he did so.

It was a little ridiculous, but it was okay to feel ridiculous at his age. He’d felt just as ridiculous when Javert had kissed him for the first time and he hadn’t known what to do with his hands.

This was easier—at least Javert had told him what to do with his hands.

The thought made him smile, and when Javert stopped in front of him, hooking his finger through the collar again to make him look up at him, he found that Javert was smiling, too.

Javert’s thumb ran along the collar, gently stroking him. And then Javert retreated to his chair, opening his book as if he wasn’t aware of how Valjean’s stomach was fluttering again. Every now and then, he looked up from his reading to make sure that Valjean was still kneeling in the correct position.

It took a lot longer this time to slide back into a meditative state.

***

Valjean couldn’t believe that he’d agreed to come along. Not that he’d ever really said no to Javert since they’d started this whole weird _thing_. Because no matter how scary or ridiculous Javert’s suggestions were, there was a part of Valjean that was still all fluttery butterflies when Javert put the collar on him, or when Javert made him kneel at his feet as he read the paper.

Still, kneeling at home was one thing—doing it in public was quite another.

Even if in this case, public meant a private club where he wasn’t the only with a collar.

At least he wasn’t leashed. Or wearing a ridiculous mesh shirt showing off nipple piercings.

Valjean was wearing a white shirt Javert had chosen—no tie, and the collar left unbuttoned to show off the leather collar. He didn’t dare to meet anyone’s eyes. At least Javert didn’t seem concerned about anything—but then, when had he ever?

And Javert looked good today. He wasn’t wearing the leather coat; instead, he’d dressed in a simple, black suit. The streaks of silver in his hair had gleamed in the sunlight when he’d come to collect Valjean for their date. For a moment, Valjean had just stared at him standing in the door, so ridiculously tall his hair brushed the doorway, so handsome that Valjean’s stomach seemed to flip and his mouth turned dry, as if he was a teenager falling in love for the first time.

But then, in a way, he was.

A waiter led Javert to a small table. There was only one chair. Javert pointed to the floor next to it.

Valjean sank to his knees before he’d even realized what he was doing. A second later, embarrassment hit, and he felt heat rise to his face. Nevertheless, he kept his position: his knees spread, his back straight, his hands resting easily on his thighs, even as his heart was hammering in his chest.

Javert gently curved his hand around his neck once he’d sat down, his thumb trailing along the collar again. Valjean took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on Javert’s touch and the comfort of the familiar position rather than their surroundings.

“I’ve thought about getting you a leash—but you don’t need one, do you?”

“No, Sir,” Valjean said, his heart still pounding, although now there was a trace of the familiar flutter as well. It intensified when Javert kept up the small caress. The weight of his hand was comforting, making it easier to ignore the strangers walking past him every now and then.

He remained on his knees even when Javert removed his hand, breathing slowly and focusing on Javert.

At last, something nudged at his lips. Without thought, he opened his mouth.

Javert slipped a small piece of meat into his mouth, and Valjean took it gratefully, closing his lips around Javert’s fingers to lick them clean, one after the other.

That was familiar, too. It was easy to lose himself in the action, forgetting all about the strangers around them as he carefully took morsel after morsel from Javert’s fingers. At last, when Javert was done, he hooked his finger through the ring in Valjean’s collar again and pulled him forward by it, until he was kneeling between Javert’s spread legs.

Javert’s thumb against his chin made him tilt up his face. Then Javert kissed him, slowly and lingeringly, until Valjean was breathless and his body tingling all over from Javert’s scent and heat and touch.

“Shall I order dessert?” Javert’s voice was husky as he pressed a finger to Valjean’s lips again.

Obediently, Valjean parted his lips, sucking the digit into his mouth to wrap his tongue around it.

“Or I could have your mouth for dessert.”

Embarrassed, Valjean realized that the waiter had come to stand by Javert again. Nevertheless, he redoubled his efforts, pressing his tongue to Javert’s finger as he carefully sucked his finger deeper into his mouth, shame entwining with that strange, fluttery need in his stomach.

“How about I let you choose?”

Valjean drew back hesitantly, then licked his swollen lips. He swallowed.

“My mouth, Sir,” he finally whispered, excruciatingly aware of the waiter standing by their side.

“What was that? Speak up,” Javert said.

Valjean didn’t even have to look up to know the look that was on Javert’s face. He’d come to know it very well: amusement and that exaggerated sternness that made something inside him tremble. And not with fear.

“People speak up when they talk to me.”

Valjean blushed furiously and raised his eyes. “My mouth, Sir,” he repeated, the words tremulous, but loud enough that any neighboring table would be able to hear them.

Javert smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

For a brief moment of terror, Valjean imagined that Javert would make him pleasure him on his knees right here under the table. The vision was not unappealing—even with shame twisting in his stomach, the thought made him feel breathless and overwhelmed.

But instead, Javert kept hold of his collar for a while, sliding two fingers into his mouth to play with him until the waiter returned with the check. Then Javert led him away—to a different part of the club where there was a curtained alcove for such a purpose. Valjean fell to his knees with relief, something inside him still tight with a nervous need he didn’t want to think about.

***

“I thought you liked these charity events.”

Javert was dressed in his long leather coat, all ready to go out, tall and handsome and overwhelming. Valjean swallowed at the familiar scent of his aftershave, the feeling of the leather collar around his throat strangely reassuring.

“I don’t, Sir,” he said instead. “I never have.”

A small smile played on Javert’s lips as he looked at him. “But you’ll go regardless?”

“Of course, Sir,” Valjean whispered, flushing again. They both knew he wouldn’t say no to Javert. Not in this, at least.

Not ever, so far, which was perhaps the biggest surprise. When Javert had first brought this entire thing up, Valjean hadn’t thought he’d last an hour without telling Javert to cut it out.

Worriedly, Valjean bit at his lip.

Javert had made him strip, then put the collar on him. The feeling of it against his throat was comforting these days, the leather supple and warm, bringing with it memories of quiet evenings he’d spent kneeling at Javert’s feet.

Still, he was naked, and he didn’t know what to expect. Surely Javert didn’t expect him to go out like this—even if it was a charity event at Javert’s BDSM club. For one thing, they’d first have to get there…

Javert took a step back, then snapped his fingers. “Obeisance,” he said, and Valjean gratefully sank to his knees, forgetting about his worries as he stretched himself out in the position Javert had demanded: on his knees with his arms flat on the floor, his head lowered between them.

Javert walked slowly around him as if to inspect his position. A moment later, he stepped away. Valjean did not move, concentrating on his breathing and on keeping perfectly still.

When Javert returned at last, Valjean was kneeling just as before. He couldn’t see what Javert was up to; Javert’s hand on his hip was his only warning before something prodded at his hole.

A shocked little gasp escaped him, but he held himself obediently still even as Javert slowly slid something into his body. Whatever it was, it was cold and strangely moist. The sensation was quite unlike that of a lubed butt plug or one of Javert’s fingers, but it felt smaller than a dildo.

He didn’t dare to squirm, holding himself still as Javert nudged it once. Then, apparently satisfied that it was safely inside, Javert gave his buttocks a small slap.

“Up,” he said, stepping back once more.

Valjean slowly raised himself, unable to hold back a surprised groan when his body tightened around the small object inside him. There was a sudden, strange tingle.

Javert didn’t bother to explain what he’d done. Instead, he nodded towards the table, where Valjean now found one of his white shirts and a pair of leather pants. Obediently, he put them on, holding back a gasp every now and then when the motion made his body clench around the thing inside him. By the time he was done, the tingling was more intense, his hole feeling strangely warm. He squirmed a little, until Javert gave him one of his looks.

“Something the matter?”

“No, Sir.” Valjean flushed again as he imagined spending an entire evening like this. But he could bear this. Probably. At least Javert wasn’t making him walk naked on a leash.

An hour later, Valjean was decidedly envying the people who got to walk around naked on a leash, because at least their prostate wasn’t on fire. He was mortified—the leather pants were so tight that the bulge in them was unmistakable, and every now and then Javert would run a possessive hand over it.

“Are you sure there’s nothing the matter?” Javert murmured, then laughed when Valjean trembled at the way his fingers ran over the outline of his cock.

“No, Sir,” Valjean managed to force out, his voice breathless and rough.

“You look very hot.”

“I can manage, Sir,” Valjean said desperately when Javert pressed the heel of his palm to his aching dick.

His body had never been disobedient like this before. Kneeling was easy, in a way—it had been embarrassing at first, and to kneel in public, even here among Javert’s friends, was still embarrassing. But this was harder—so much harder.

The object inside him made him ache with a subtle, insistent burn, his hole hot and continually clenching around the thing, which only increased its bite. He couldn’t take a single step without the aching awareness of the penetration—and with so many eyes on him, he couldn’t help but wonder if they all knew what Javert had done to him.

“Good,” Javert murmured, lips quirking, “because I won’t take it out, even if you beg. But you won’t, will you?”

Valjean swallowed. “No, Sir.” The admission was breathless, and hearing himself say it made his stomach flutter again.

It still didn’t seem right that he should feel this way—but that didn’t make it any more real. A part of him liked that Javert asked these things of him. A part of him liked showing that he could do what he was asked.

And after all the many terrible years of fear, there was something strangely seductive to those moments when he just gave himself up. Even now, it terrified him—but every single time, taking the plunge had been worth it in the end.

Javert stroked his trapped, swollen cock again, then trailed around his body to possessively curve around his buttocks. One of his fingers explored into the crease. It jarred the thing inside him through the leather so that Valjean silently gasped, arching his back at the hot pressure right against his prostate.

He couldn’t see the state Javert was in. The leather coat hid that detail from view. But as he trembled, his body clenching hard around the burning intrusion, he found himself praying that Javert, too, was too aroused to last much longer at this event.

In the end, it took two more hours until they made it back home. Silently, Valjean had suffered through speeches and a raffle, squirming every now and then as he knelt next to Javert until Javert quieted him with a nudge. His hole was still in agony, his prostate so sensitive that there were tears in his eyes when he finally stood up, the thing pressing against him _right there_ so that he nearly came in his pants.

He was shaking, he realized when Javert hooked his finger through the collar again and pulled him into a kiss by it. Javert, too, was unmistakable aroused, his eyes dark and his voice husky.

“I’m going to fuck you just like this the second we get home,” Javert growled into his ear, “and you’re not going to come, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Valjean gasped, not caring if the people next to them heard him. He squirmed in the cab, too, feeling loose and tense at once—it was almost like being drunk, although he hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol, but he didn’t care if the driver saw his collar, and he didn’t care if he saw him squirm. His body was aflame and he was aching and aroused and couldn’t think of anything but Javert’s hand on his thigh.

He didn’t know how they made it back into Javert’s apartment. His knees were so weak that it felt nearly impossible to keep himself upright. With every step he took, jolts of pleasure raced up his spine when the burning thing inside him pressed right _there_.

“Strip.” The command came hoarse and sharp, as soon as they’d made it into Javert’s bedroom.

Valjean groaned when he pulled off the tight leather trousers, the burning inside him increasing as his hole desperately clenched around the object.

Javert pointed at the bed. “Back. Hold up your knees.”

Valjean scrambled to obey, gasping softly as he assumed the position, his body throbbing with need when he grasped his knees and held himself open and exposed.

Javert pulled off his leather coat, then hastily unzipped his pants. His cock was hard and dark with blood, angrily jutting forward. Quickly, he smoothed lube over himself. A second later, he was kneeling between Valjean’s thighs, his fingers prodding at his aching hole until he’d grasped hold of the thing and pulled it out.

A heartbeat later, without warning, his cock went in instead. Valjean dimly heard himself cry out as his back arched.

His hole felt so sore and sensitive that the friction of Javert’s large cock inside him was almost too much to bear. He’d clenched around the burning thing for so long that Javert felt twice as large—and Javert wasn’t showing any of his usual restraint. Without a thought to Valjean’s pleasure, he plunged into him, burying himself inside him with hard thrust after thrust.

Every thrust hit Valjean’s burning prostate, the friction so intense that tears were running down his cheeks. Still he clutched his knees, holding himself open for the rough thrusts that penetrated him to his core, Javert groaning into his ear as he took him ruthlessly. And then, at last, Javert’s entire body tensed as he came, the rush of wet heat inside Valjean easing the burning somewhat, although Valjean’s own cock was still so hard it hurt.

Long minutes later, Javert groaned again and moved off him. His hand moved between Valjean’s thighs. He made a pleased sound when he found Valjean still hard.

“Good,” Javert murmured lazily. “Shower, now.”

In the shower, he had Valjean turned around and lean against the wall, his palms against the tiles and his legs spread apart.

Javert turned the hot water on, then stepped behind Valjean, pressing close against him. Valjean found himself moaning desperately as Javert grabbed the butt plug he kept in his bathroom and slid it into him. Helplessly, Valjean’s body clenched around the bulbous intrusion, his cock jerking in near agony when the plug pressed right against his burning prostate again.

“You’re keeping that in tonight,” Javert growled into his ear. “It doesn’t go out until I fuck you in the morning.”

“Yes, Sir,” Valjean groaned, then arched when Javert’s hand slid around him, taking hold of his cock. Three times, Javert’s large hand slid up and down, massaging him firmly until he was trembling all over, the pressure inside him nearly unbearable.

“Do you want to come?”

“Please, Sir,” Valjean begged, shivering despite the hot water as Javert kept stroking him, his hand twisting around the glans until Valjean found himself standing on his tiptoes, his eyes tightly squeezed shut as he tried to hold on. 

“You can come now,” Javert murmured, all smug and satisfied, but Valjean didn’t care at all.

It felt like his entire body was falling apart as pleasure rushed through him. Dimly, he heard himself cry out. His sore hole clenched tightly around the plug that kept filling him, large and unyielding as it pressed against his prostate while his body climaxed in overwhelmed spurt after spurt, Javert stroking him slowly through it all.

When it was done, Valjean was so exhausted he could barely keep himself upright. Javert laughed softly as he cleaned them both, running large, soapy hands all over him, not sparing his over-sensitized cock as Valjean gratefully leaned against him.

Javert smiled at him when he turned him around, and, suddenly feeling ridiculously light and relieved, Valjean found himself smiling up at him.

They usually ended this game after they were done; the collar came off and he fell asleep in the arms of Javert, not Sir. But today, he didn’t mind keeping his collar on through the night—or the butt plug in.

Even now, as exhausted as he was, it sent twinges of pleasure through him every time he moved. But Javert would take care of it in the morning. Trusting Javert had never led him wrong. And there was something very seductive to the thought of falling asleep with Javert’s collar on him and the large plug inside him—a night free of old fears, with nothing for him to worry about but pleasing Javert.

“Thank you, Sir,” he murmured when Javert gently pressed him against the wall once more, leaning down to kiss him. This time, using the title didn’t even make him blush. He felt loose and relaxed, and it felt natural and right with Javert’s warm, wet skin against his.

Javert smiled against his mouth. “Told you. You like charity events.”

“Maybe I just like you, Sir.”

He wound his arms around Javert’s neck when Javert laughed into the kiss, ridiculously tall, ridiculously self-satisfied, and—ridiculous or not—all Valjean wanted.

How strange this was. Once, when they’d started this, he’d thought that he was too old to be desired like this. It had flustered him. Some days, it still did. But right now, being loved and being safe didn’t feel strange at all. And perhaps that was the weirdest thing about all of this.


End file.
